Turtles All the Way Down

by John Green

“Actually, the problem is that I can’t lose my mind,” I said. “It’s inescapable.”

I felt worse for the thirteen-year-old who wakes up every morning thinking that maybe today is the day. And then he plays video games every night to distract from the dull ache of knowing your father doesn’t trust or love you enough to be in contact,

“I wish I understood it,” she said. “It’s okay,” I said. “Nobody gets anybody else, not really. We’re all stuck inside ourselves.”

‘That’s all fine and good, Mr. Scientist, but the truth is, the earth is a flat plane resting on the back of a giant turtle.’

‘Well, but if that’s so, what is the giant turtle standing upon?’ “And the woman says, ‘It is standing upon the shell of another giant turtle.’ “And now the scientist is frustrated, and he says, ‘Well, then what is that turtle standing upon?’ “And the old woman says, ‘Sir, you don’t understand. It’s turtles all the way down.’”

Thanks for that. We’ve decided to just be friends. Me: Cool. Her: But the kind of friends who kiss right after deciding to just be friends. Me: I’m sure this will work out perfectly. Her: Everything always does.

It seemed surreal and miraculous to me that so many cars could drive past one another without colliding, and I felt certain that each set of headlights headed my way would inevitably veer into my path.

Him: It makes me feel like you only like me at a distance. I need to be liked close up.

You’re both the fire and the water that extinguishes it. You’re the narrator, the protagonist, and the sidekick. You’re the storyteller and the story told. You are somebody’s something, but you are also your you.

“You feeling anxious?” “Is there any way we can make a deal where I tell you when I have a mental health concern instead of you asking?” “It’s impossible for me not to worry, baby.” “I know, but it’s also impossible not to feel the weight of that worry like a boulder on my chest.”

“The problem with happy endings,” I said, “is that they’re either not really happy, or not really endings, you know? In real life, some things get better and some things get worse. And then eventually you die.”

I get that nothing lasts. But why do I have to miss everybody so much?

I thought, lying there, that I might love him for the rest of my life. We did love each other—maybe we never said it, and maybe love was never something we were in, but it was something I felt. I loved him, and I thought, maybe I will never see him again, and I’ll be stuck missing him, and isn’t that so terrible.

You remember your first love because they show you, prove to you, that you can love and be loved, that nothing in this world is deserved except for love, that love is both how you become a person, and why.

and no one ever says good-bye unless they want to see you again.